


More Than a Thing

by Reia



Series: A Thing [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Stiles, Implied Somnophilia, Knotting, Light D/s Dynamics, M/M, Masturbation, Top!Derek, implied dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reia/pseuds/Reia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hits him then, that they’re at his kitchen table, his <i>dad’s kitchen table</i>, and he makes a true effort to pull or push away, something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> So. I'm on vacation and my brain decided that more knotting!fic was needed in this world. This is nothing more than pure, absolute porn. No plot at all. I may or may not write more in the future, it all depends on whether or not plot gets added. Or if my brain comes up with even more creative ways for Derek to take Stiles.
> 
> As usual, [shiny_starlight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_starlight) is to blame for everything that goes on in my head that's _Teen Wolf_ related.
> 
> For clearer warnings, please check the notes at the end of the fic.
> 
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> * * *
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That first day Derek only lets him out of bed because Stiles had promised to make his dad breakfast before he had to go into work. Not that he makes it easy, with his fingers a burning heat deep inside Stiles as he murmurs soft, dirty words into his ear, watching as Stiles furiously jerks himself off all because Derek had told him to.

Afterwards, as he’s getting dressed, he glances towards the door of his bathroom, briefly contemplating a shower because, seriously, he feels gross right now. A deep growl from the bed has him taking a fumbling step, not knowing if he wants to be as near or as far as possible from the source. Derek is reclining against his pillows, smugness and something else that Stiles can’t – or won’t – name radiating off him. He wants to push it, to tell Derek that he can shower if he very well feels like it, thank you very much, but that annoying voice in his head that’s followed him throughout life tells him that would be a very bad idea indeed.

Instead he pulls on sweat pants, not even bothering to hide the grimace as he feels a bit of Derek’s come slip out, and one of his ratty t-shirts. Stiles doesn’t glance back at Derek as he leaves the room, doesn’t need to see the look on the other man’s face to know that his ass is being liberally watched as he walks out. The kitchen is quiet, the dishes from the night before piled half-hazardly in the sink and the soft morning light streaking in through the window.

Toast, eggs, coffee, and, because he’s feeling generous, a side of real bacon. It doesn’t take him long to get it all cooked up, washing dishes and cleaning up some of the left over mess from last night’s dinner in between. Halfway through Derek comes in, clothes rumpled and that damn smugness still plastered on his face. When he sits down at the table, coffee in hand, Stiles has a moment of sheer panic at the thought of his _dad_ seeing him there. Then he realizes that he’s no longer a teenager, Derek and his dad are friends, hell Derek _works_ for his dad, and well, things could be worse. Maybe.

His hands shake only slightly as he sets his dad’s plate on the table, heart jittery with every movement because Derek will not. Stop. _Staring_. It’s unnerving and creepy and he wants nothing more than to bolt from the room. It’s like Derek reads his mind though, because as soon as the thought forms in his head another low growl sounds out, this one deeper than before and he swallows thickly before turning back to the stove and serving himself breakfast.

Stiles doesn’t think to get anything for Derek, it simply doesn’t cross his mind, and when he realizes this he stops and frowns down at the man, wondering if he should. A roll of his eyes and Derek’s jerking his head in a ‘come here’ way, Stiles obeying without thought. It’s quiet and soon enough he can hear his dad coming down the stairs, the soft thump of his shoes loud to Stiles’ ears.

It takes a moment for his dad to notice the extra body in the room and when he does, he freezes, hand automatically going to his hip holster. Stiles can’t look away from his dad, sees the exact moment he realizes who it is that’s sitting extremely close to his son, arm draped casually, but possessively, over the back of Stiles’ chair. He doesn’t know how, but he also knows exactly when his dad notices the marks on his neck. Time seems to stand still and then his dad grunts out an, “It’s about time,” and sits down to eat.

For Stiles it’s more than enough to fully turn him off his food and he picks at it, watching his dad out of the corner of his eye. Nothing more is said though, at least not until his dad is about to leave and has a few words with Derek about his schedule. It’s surreal and Stiles is feeling more and more out of his depth as his dad nods at him, soft grin on his face, and says something about being home late.

As soon as the door is shut behind him, Stiles whirls on Derek. “What does he mean? What did that mean? How is it – Derek!” Derek is, of course, ignoring him, quickly eating what’s left of Stile’s food. It ignites something in him and he punches Derek hard in the arm, wincing only slightly at the impact. “What the fuck, Derek? My dad just – What? And last night, what the hell was that? What exactly is _this_?”

Still, he’s being ignored and that just riles him up further, frustration and confusion winning out. He stands up and is turning away, mouth open to say something when he’s suddenly slammed down against the table, hands scrabbling for purchase as Derek presses in against him from behind. Stiles feels as if his brain is leaking out of his ears, mind a jumble as he scrambles for something to say, effort lost as his sweatpants are pulled down and a finger slides into him where he’s still stretched and wet.

“This means that you are _mine_.” Derek’s voice is low, throaty, and feral in a way that Stiles has rarely heard. For all that he’s teased Derek and the other wolves, they have a pretty tight hold on their inner beast, only letting it out when absolutely necessary.

A part of him wants to scream, push the werewolf at his back off, and run. Another part, the crazy part that is delirious with pleasure because Derek is hitting so many of his kinks all at once, wants nothing more than to stay where he is, pinned and held by someone stronger and faster than him. The indecision results in a low whine, a noise he’s embarrassed about but can’t seem to stop. Derek snorts and pulls his finger out, replacing it quickly with his cock, already rock hard and pushing way too easily into Stiles.

Even after being fucked three times over the course of one night and fingered not just an hour ago, Derek is still big and thick, movements hard as he starts thrusting. Stiles groans, hands sliding across the table surface until he finds the edge, his mug, still half full of coffee, sliding off and landing with a dull thump on the chair his dad had vacated only a few minutes ago.

It hits him then, that they’re at his kitchen table, his _dad’s kitchen table_ , and he makes a true effort to pull or push away, something. Derek growls and slams into him, hard and fast, making Stiles gasp out at the sensation. “You’re not getting away from me, Stiles. Not when I want to take you.”

And oh god, this is ridiculous, he’s submissive, sure, but this? This is way more than that. This is Derek taking and using him and he loves it. Loves it in a way that he’ll never be able to describe and will never, ever, tell anyone, least of all Derek, about. Stiles closes his eyes and lets his forehead drop against the table, hips canting up of their own accord, seeking more. Derek grumbles and when one of his hands slides up Stiles’ back and over to the front of his neck he has a tiny heart attack as claws settle almost gently against his throat.

He’s viciously proud of the fact that he can get Derek to lose control so easily and he smiles to himself as he reaches back, twisting awkwardly, and fingers at his stretched ass, moaning when he realizes just how wide open he his, just how filled up by Derek he feels. This gets Derek to growl low in his throat, vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure up and down Stiles’ spine and he arches back, pressing against the hand at his neck.

“Please, please.” Stiles doesn’t know what he’s begging for, not really, and the word keeps falling out of his mouth, a desperate litany that he’s just barely aware of as Derek’s thrusts speed up and his hand tightens around Stile’s throat. That sends another, completely different, feeling jetting through his nerves and he cries out, awkwardly lifting a leg up onto the table to open himself up further, wanting more of Derek in him. “Please.”

“Mine, all mine.” The words sound ripped out of Derek, as if that’s all he’s capable of saying and Stiles nods, desperate.

“Always.” As soon as he says it he realizes it’s true, that even though he’s been with five other people he’s only ever belonged to Derek. It’s a punch in the gut to know this, to know that even when he wasn’t aware of it he’d _belonged_ to Derek . Stiles shifts, just slightly, and it’s enough to allow him to get his elbows under him so that he can push back, somehow getting more of Derek’s cock inside him. “Yours, always yours.”

He sounds breathy, voice high and thin as he struggles with the very thorough way he’s being fucked. His skin is sweat slick, sliding across the table top easily with each of Derek’s thrusts, even as he uses the small bit of leverage he has to try and stay as still as possible. Stiles’ cock hasn’t even been touched, completely neglected throughout their encounter, but it’s hard and weeping, Stiles can feel it bouncing against his legs, his balls drawing up as he feels his orgasm approaching.

Then Derek’s face is right there, next to his, hairy cheek brushing against Stiles’ and it hits him suddenly that Derek is _wolfed out_ and really, that thought should not be as hot as it is. Another whine escapes, his mouth wide open as he pants for air, one hand reaching up and tangling fingers in Derek’s hair. The growl this pulls out of the werewolf does nothing more than push Stiles closer to the edge and he pushes back hard, moaning loudly in response.

Derek tenses over him, teeth scraping lightly at the soft skin of Stiles’ shoulder before he grunts and stills. By now Stiles knows what that means and it sets him off, fucking himself against Derek, wanting the other man to keep moving inside of him, high whines and moans gasping out as he begs with his body for more. The knot starts to grow and he chokes on air, his elbows sliding out from under him and he keeps moving his hips in short, hitching, movements that make Derek grumble contentedly in his ear.

A few long moments pass and then Derek is moving again, fucking him just as hard but with short, tight movements that have the knot pulling at him. Stiles knows he’s talking, begging and pleading, incoherent mumbles and half-formed words falling from his lips as his orgasm slams into him, shocking him into stillness and then sudden loose limpidness. He feels spent, exhausted in a way he’s never been, and he sighs against the wood his mouth is pressed against as Derek keeps fucking him, thrusting harder and then stilling, a sharp warmth spreading inside of Stiles.

They stay like that for a long while, bodies tied together and sweat cooling between them. After what seems like ages Derek sits up and pulls out, the still swollen knot on his cock slipping out with a pop that has Stiles shuddering. He doesn’t move until Derek pulls him up, hands slipping down Stiles’ body and two fingers slipping inside of him once again. It’s hard to keep back the moans as he starts to shift, wanting more and unable to articulate exactly what.

Huffing a laugh, Derek presses a soft kiss against his throat and pulls out, come slick fingers trailing across Stiles’ skin. No words are exchanged as Derek takes the dishes and quickly washes them, leaving the mess on the table to Stiles. It’s awkward to clean up because his pants are still around his ankles, Derek’s come slowly dripping out of him; when he’d tried pulling them up or even stepping out of them, Derek had growled, flashing red eyes at him, and Stiles had given in after only one scary moment where Derek had looked truly angry.

By the time the kitchen is spotless Stiles feels tired, bone weary and sleepy, ready to crawl back into bed. Derek doesn’t seem to mind picking him up and carrying him over his shoulder as he makes his way up to Stiles’ room. He would protest, really, but it’s kind of nice to know he doesn’t have to use what little energy he has. Dropped unceremoniously on the bed, Stiles rolls over and is half way to being asleep when he feels Derek crowd in behind him and push his cock in, hard and hot, muffling Stiles’ protests by slipping two fingers into his mouth and wrapping his other hand around the base of Stiles’ dick.

It’s weird because he’s barely conscious and his body is only just responding to the stimulus. Stiles wonders, vaguely, if this is all it will be with Derek, if he’ll ever have more than just constant fucking, and then he wonders why he’s even complaining. But it’s _weird_ and he feels as if he’s missing something. Thoughts are a hazy idea to him and Stiles feels his body jerk as a soft and almost overwhelmingly pleasant orgasm hits him. He starts slipping into sleep, body loose and pliant as he feels Derek’s knot swelling inside him once again, and he smiles crookedly into his pillow as darkness finally claims him.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part at the end where Stiles isn't one-hundred percent there and he's half asleep. Take it as you may.


End file.
